Sonera
by Sydoodles
Summary: A story I don't want to edit but I wanted to write anyway. A fantasy/mystery crossover of Phantom of the Opera with Hocus Pocus. Also involves werewolves. Involves life after Phantom the Opera and before Hocus Pocus (the Sanderson Sisters, at least Sarah, was around during the PotO time period)
1. Chapter 1

Authors note:

I need to explain some things first. I have always been drawn to the whole concept of the voice being able to captivate. Entrance. Hypnotize. The only creatures that have been able to do so have been mermaids, sirens, harpies,  
some witches,some vampires, why not werewolves? I think that werewolves would be just as able to. Why not? Their howlscan reach far and wide. You may only think that the howl is only a beastly  
cry. I think it can be, but it can be more than that. In my searchesI stillhaven'tbeen able to find a fanfictionthat I fit what I wanted. So here I go.

This fanfiction is inspired by my two favorite voice enchanters. The first, Erik, the Phantom of the Opera. (I am going to use his movie version with his book name)  
The second, is Sarah Sanderson, whom is part of the Sanderson Sisters in the movie Hocus Pocus. Primarily famous for her song: "Come Little Children".

If the historical dates don't match up, I don't really care :3 This is also my own rendition of after the events with Christine and Roul. For the sake of time, Erik has moved on with his life and continues to haunt the Opera House. (I  
know, kind of a lame explanation, but I just want to write this. P.S.I don't believe in the musical Love Never Dies). I'm just writing his for he sake of writing it.

Oh one more part!

Another huge part of inspiration Is the epic song Sonera by Thomas Bergeson. Imagine these two singers singing this awesome duet! (Imagine this being the main theme for the big climactic scene!)

Okay, I think that is just about it for explaining. Let's get on to the story!

Erik the Opera Ghost lurked above the Paris Opera House stage. Ever since his star pupil, Christine Daae left with Roul, he spent his days in emptiness. His soul felt empty. He hated the emptiness. He wandered for months  
to find something to fill it. He resorted to alcohol. Drowning the emptiness and the sorrow. He spent months in that state, wasting away. One early morning, he woke on the top of the Opera House. When the alcohol indiced  
sleep faded from his senses, he was once again reminded of the emptiness, he sobbed one last heave, and then stopped.

He simply breathed, and stared into the early morning sky above. He didn't know how long he layed there. But at that moment, miraculously, he did not feel he should resort to alcohol. His mind had been clear of any intoxication for the  
first time in a very long time. He stood, and peered over the east side of the Opera House. He could see the expanses of Paris as far as his eyes could see.

Then the first rays of the morning sun pierced his eyes. It had been so long since he had seen any natural light. It burned his eyes. Hey shielded his eyes with his hands. Slowly, he used his hands to visor his eyes. He saw  
a new beauty.

Erik want sure what happened, but he felt different. More at peace. It was difficult to become used to. Sometimes he would have moments of anxiety as he wondered if he was the same Erik. In time, he resolved that he indeed was  
still the Opera Ghost. Yet he wasn't restless. He enjoyed toying with their minds from time to time, but anything harmful wasn't enjoyable anymore. At times he enjoyed simply roaming the hallways and corridors and secret passages.

One night, he took his black horse for a run to give it fresh air. During a brisk trot to go back to the opera house, the horse slowed, it's ears flicking backwards. Erik pulled to reins gently to slow to a gentle stop. The horses hooves  
uneasily paced the ground, and would not enter the forest to return to the opera house. The horse tossed it's head and shyed away from going any father into the forest.

Perplexed and a little frustrated, Erik dismounted and warily took a few steps forward. He held his Punjab lasso in hand, hidden under his cape. Erik listened and watched. He progressed deeper and deeper. The mist from the  
night rose mid-calf. The quiet was maddening. "Come out!" Erik snarled. He circled a clearing, casting his voice in the trees, in the bushes, and behind him with his ventriloquism.

He returned to the center. Waiting, slowly turning to watch the surrounding trees and brush.

Then, it appeared. Silent and black asthe night itself. It's hot breath steaming from its open mouth, fangs glistening, and saliva dripping. This was no ordinary wolf. It stood on to legs like a man, and was slightly hunched.  
A long tail added more to its swift design.

Erik tightly gripped the lasso. He could easily outsmart this devilish beast with a few swift moves and by strangling it.

He circled it. The monster circled him. It hunched onto all fours, at this heighth it reached Eriks collar bone.

And then, without warning, it lunged. Erik only hard time to react, and only got the noose around the beasts huge neck. He pulled, but it got there first. On the ground, he felt it's fangs sink into his released and pulled  
back, snapping the rope that Erik was holding. It stood and howled, the sound echoing. Just as quickly as it came, it left.

That was six years ago.

Eriks first transformation was something he did not want to relive. Yet with every full moon, he had to. Fortunately with each time, the process became smoother and less painful. Erik wasn't sure if it was because of his intellect  
and genius he remained aware of himself while he was transformed, or if the werewolf that attacked him was a different case. When he was transformed, his clothing melded into his fur, which was pitch black. Drawing information to diagnose  
his new challenge was challenging, and nearly impossible. He had only met two other werewolves in their wolf forms. The first one was while he was hunting in the forest and ended upbeing a nasty fight and added to his already scarred  
face. The second was with an older one, who was experienced.

Even now, there was stillmuch he didn't know.

Like how his voice was altered, both in human and in werewolf form. His voiced seemed to Cary even more, and was much louder. He could add in growls and snarls as well, but when he sang, he howled as well. The result, was rather quite  
enchanting.

He practiced this skill on young naive ballet dancers to make them wander far from their intended destinations, and leave them in a stupor of how they got there in the first place.

Yet, today was different.

He watched the actors, singers, andstage hands from above. They allseemeda bit anxious. But this wasn't his doing. They talked together in a huddled cluster, speaking in hushed anxious tones, all wearing  
a worried and anxious expression with knit eyebrows and wide eyes.

Erik watched with his keen eyes, narrowing them in speculation. With his keen ears, hecould hear them.

" _What is going on?" A young ballet dancer with wide eyes enquired._

 _"I have told the police, even they have had similar cases reported." Said a younger man who painted stage steps._

 _"So it's been multiple families!?" Gasped a chorus girl._

 _"My neighbor Clarice's daughterwent missing last night!" Aplumpaltowoman said in a hush voice._

 _"I will guard my Son during the nights!" Resolutely stated a gruff carpenter._

 __

Erik was just as curious of what was going on as the people below. He was pulling this information together in his mind. From what he gathered, it was children who were going missing.

Alarmed, his eyes widened. Raoul de Chagny and his wife Christine had removed themselves from the Opera business. Raoul used his skills in other businesses and interprizes, and Christine devoted herself to be the mother of her son, Donatien,  
now five years old.

Her son.  
Five years old.

Although Erik received peace from his past love, he still had a twing of fatherly love towards her. To keep an eye over her. To remain, in a sense, an angel from afar.

Hewould have to investigate more. With a swish of his cape, he dove into the shadows.

-

 _  
_


	2. Chapter 2

Okay so I had part of chapter 2 written but then I accidentally closed out of my iPad and it got deleted! D:

Okay so I am going to tell you readers about a singer who's voice inspires me. She doesn't know I'm writing this but it is her voice that can be both enchanting and wolfish. Her name is Ashley Serena. I don't own her music.

I recommend you listen to her rendition of Come Little Children and another one of her originals called Once Upon A Moonrise. Both can be found on soundcloud and on YouTube. Her voice is what I imagine werewolf singing to sound like.

And now, take 2 of chapter 2!

The streets of Paris were dark. A light autumn mist rose above the streets on this particular night.

Christine held her son Donatiens hand as they hurried home. Donatiens father Raoul was unable to join them, as he had a late night at his work place.  
The night air was crisp and still. Like it was holding its breath. Christine began to sing softly to settle the atmosphere, and to give comfort to both her and her son, as he had a particular rough day.

"Think of me,  
Think of me fondly,  
When we say goodbye..."

Her son sniffled and ripped his hand from hers and tore off to a nearby fountain.  
Even though he was past the age of tantrums, this didn't stop him from how upset he was. He lost a very good friend, a favorite toy of his was broken, and his father would have another late night. All unfair and catastrophic in his young perspective.  
How could the earth continue to spin?

His mother rushed to him, urging him to stop crying in a gentle manner.  
"Please Donatien, we must get home." She feared for her son from the talk that she heard from neighbors and others in the neighborhood. She wanted him to get home safely and as soon as possible.  
Donatien was beyond reason.  
"It's not fair Mamma!" He sobbed.  
"I know, my son." She held him close, and then took his hand once more as they continued onward. Donatien continued to sob, using his sleeve to wipe his tears and runny nose.

Finally, they reached their home. Christine hung Donatiens hat, scarf, and coat, and wrapped a blanket around him. She went to the kitchen to prepare something warm.  
Donatien sniffled a final time, his eyes puffy and his lip trembled. He found the family cat on the stairs and held the lanky furry animal in his arms, rubbing his face in its fur. The cat was older and used to being handled by young children.  
It didn't mind and purred.

Donatien climbed the stairs to his room, the cat still in his arms. Once in his room, he set the cat on his bed and went to the window. He opened the window, letting in the cool sharp air in. He shivered against the chill. He inhaled  
and exhaled the cold air, soothing the lump that had been in his throat.

He reflected at how unfair this day had been.  
"Why? This day has been a bad day. I just want to see my friend again. It's so unfair!"  
He told to no-one, and rested his head against his cheek against the sleeve of his folded arms and stared at grains of the window sill.

"I want this day to be over..."

A rustle of the breeze came to his window and combed through his hair, stroking his face.

He thought he heard a sound along with the wind. A hushing sound, like a whisper. It spoke his name.

"Donatien..."

Besides his mothers singing, he had not heard a voice like this before. It sang, carried on the wind. A beam of moonlight pierced through the clouds of the night.

Donatien raised his eyes from the wood grain and beheld a figure rise before him. The figure, cloaked, had blonde hair streaming in the wind. Pointed ears rose along with an elongated snout. Clawed hands beckoned him, and this wolfish  
enchantress began to sing.

"Come Little Children, I'll take thee away,  
Into a land of enchantment.  
Come Little Children, the times come to play,  
Here in my garden of magic..."

The enchantress took Donatiens hand, and he, transfixed, took it willingly.

"Follow sweet children, I'll show thee the way, through all the pain, and the sorrow.  
"Weep not poor children, for life is this way.  
Murduring beauty, and passion..."

She raised her head to the moon and howled her song, the voice being carried in the wind to the vast sky above...

She continued to cry out her song.  
Out on the street, Donatien obediently followed. Other children flocked to this enchanting shepherdess.

It's a little shorter (I think). But I got lazy and I didn't want to continue the rest of the lyrics of Come Little Children.

Also feel free to listen to that version of Come Little Children that everybody knows about. The one by Kate Covington on her YouTube channel Erutan Music (I don't own). Yeah that one inspires me too. 


	3. Chapter 3

Hello! I know it's been a while. The best access to is through the app. They should make it so that you can message followers and things like that through it. Thank you all for the follows, favorites, and comments for this story and my other one!

It's been hard to write since I'm in college and packed with homework.

It had taken Donatien longer than she had expected. Christine felt a cold feeling pass through her, and her stomach dropped.

"Donatien" she called up the stairs. He didn't answer.

Hurriedly she went up the stairs to her sons room. She opened the door, and wide eyed she saw the window open, the drapes blowing in a breeze.

Christine flew down the stairs, through the door, and onto the cold and empty Parisian streets.

She shivered.

"Donatien!" She called, this time more earnestly. Panic began to rise in her. Frantic tears budded her eyes. Her voice quivered. She called his name again.

Without a second thought she ran to the police.

In their office she paced, her hand over her mouth and she worried and fretted and cried. Raoul would soon be there. Investigators were already on the case. Christine searched her mothers intuition for any revelation or feeling of where her son was.

She only knew that something was wrong, and that he had disappeared.

Through the corner of her misty, puffy, and tear-worn eye, she thought she saw the clouds forming in front of a full moon. They were crudely shaped, forming a wolfish creature with a wolfish grin.

The investigators sent Raoul and Christine home. At home they did not rest. Raoul was anxious and pacing, racking every part of his brain as to where his son could have ended up. He was all too familiar with the ever increasing cases and stories of children being swept away into the night. He desperately held onto logical explanations, but in the past, logic seemed to distort into a strange reality.

Was this the case as well? He began to wonder.

He looked over to Christine, who was by a window, eyes closed and head bowed, silently weeping in quiet prayer. He admired her for being so faithful.

He didn't want to interrupt her with his musings, yet he had to confide in his wife.

"Christine," he gently said, and she wearily raised her head.

"You don't suppose... that, the missing children... well..." He looked at her again. This was a sensitive assumption. He didn't want to upset her. She only waited for him to continue.

He cleared his throat. "You don't think that... this could be done by... Your Ghost... do you?"

Her eyebrows furrowed slightly. "Erik? No, he wouldn't do something like this." She quickly said, going back to the window and wringing her hands.

Raoul thought her conclusion was to quick. "... Are you sure?" He asked even quieter, looking into her eyes intently, taking her hands which where becoming red.

"Yes, Raoul. You don't know him like I do." Christine's words were final. She nuzzled her husband gently.

"Raoul?" She quietly asked after a moment of silence.

"Hm?"

"Take me to the church, please."

"What?" Raoul stared in disbelief at her. "Now? It's so late! We need to rest!"

"Please." Christine said, more firmly. "Trust me with this."

At least she was insisting he go with her.

A half hour later, Christine walked into the church. Raoul stayed behind to watch over their small carriage and the horses. It was empty, but always open to whomever. A few candles were lit here and there. She prayed at the altar for a moment, asking for Heavens divine guidance and watch over her and her son.

She walked out onto the grounds, the chill greater at this time in the early morning.

Dawn had not yet approached, but in a few hours time it would be.

Christine stared at the city before her. She was able to see the edges of the city, and had a clear view.

She waited, allowing her head to clear. Her eyes growing heavy.

Then, she heard a distant sound. It was a little odd. Like a moaning melodic sigh. Christine listened more intently. She heard it again, this time it grew a bit louder. It was... singing.. of some sort. She called out. "Hello?"

From the distance of where she was she heard laughter. Mocking laughter.

Christine fearlessly marched forward, the determination and even anger of a mother boiling inside of her. She no longer was a naive girl. She had a family to protect and defend with her life.

"Where is my son?!" She shouted.

The voice laughed again and sighed. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Christine neared the tree line where the voice was materializing

"Yes you do, you wretch-"

Christine was cut short, and before her rose out of the shrubbery, was a slender cloaked woman with blonde hair. She was beautiful.

The woman slowly turned her head and pierced Christine with a golden eye, and her blood red lips slowly carved into a wolfish smile with jagged teeth.

"You won't find them..." she snarled, her features growing more and more sharper. Her face elongated into a sharp snout with the same wolfish grin and altogether she was engulfed in darkness, and was gone.

Raoul's shouts of her name reached her now, as moments later he arrived by her side.

"What is it?" He breathlessly panted.

A doleful howl sounded In the distance.

Both were in silence.

Christine didn't know how to answer. Her hands trembled from anger and fatigue.

Yet she had an idea.

She had to speak with her angel.


End file.
